


this one’s for me, I deserve it

by suzukiblu



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Everyone Is Poly Because Guardians, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT5, Polyamory, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, fuck yeah culture clash, the most appalled OT5 in the galaxy, what a bunch of a-holes, what the hell is a soulmark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2202999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait, you have one too?” Rocket asks, touching his chest with a queasy expression. “What the hell, I thought it was, like, a <i>serial</i> number or something.” </p><p>“Why would we have serial numbers?” Gamora snaps. </p><p>“I didn’t know <i>you</i> did!” Rocket snaps back. </p><p>“What are we <i>talking</i> about?!” Quill demands shrilly from the floor, trying to drag his pants back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this one’s for me, I deserve it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckyh2112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyh2112/gifts).



> For [beckyh2112](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyh2112), because she asked and it has been a dog’s age since we were anywhere near the same fandom and I could actually write something for her, so THANK YOU FOR THIS GIFT, MCU. Also I am notoriously weak to soulmate AUs, there is very little I will not write if the phrase “soulmate AU” is somehow involved. 
> 
> Although confession: I loved the hell out of this movie but I’ve only seen it once so far and know nine kinds of nothing about the relevant comics, so please forgive me if I fuck up timeline/someone’s speaking patterns/general vernacular/whatever. I STILL WROTE THIS FROM A PLACE OF LOVE.

They’re jammed into the galley of Quill’s dingy little spaceship, narrowly free from prison and on their way to sell the damn bane of an orb as they eat a mediocre dinner that is actually _worse_ than the prison food was, although decidedly less likely to be full of broken glass. So there’s that, Gamora thinks, largely unimpressed all the same. Then Quill opens the infuriating device he nearly got himself recaptured for and extracts a piece of it to inspect, and dinner becomes the least important thing on her mind. Presumably he’s checking the device’s components for damage, which is not unreasonable given the circumstances, but that’s not the part she gets stuck on. 

“What,” she says, eyes locking in on the extracted piece as Quill lifts it up and turns it in his hand under the light. There is a marking on it: a white rectangle split with eight red lines, stacked thickest to thinnest, and another rectangle taken out of it in the middle, above which a row of unfamiliar characters shows. It is a wholly unrecognizable marking to the girl she was the first dozen times it was flayed off her, and she knows the sight of it beyond all doubt. 

“Oh _no_ ,” Rocket groans, locking in on it too. “What. What is that. What is _wrong with you_.” 

“What?” Quill asks defensively as he looks up from his share of their worthless dinner, his mouth half-full. “It’s my thing! It’s a thing!” 

“It’s a thing you nearly got killed for,” Gamora says, still staring at it. Of course. Of _course_ , she thinks, internally seething. “You _miserable_ Terran.” 

“What?!” Quill protests again, and Gamora just makes an angry noise and drags him out of his seat and into her lap. He attempts a protest but his mouth is still full and mostly he ends up choking instead. 

“You’re disgusting,” she informs him icily, yanking off his coat and going for his shirt. 

“Clothes!” he yelps, knocking over her dinner and nearly falling out of her lap. 

“No!” Gamora snaps back. The meal is no great loss. Groot pulls an inquiring expression; Drax merely appears confused. 

“Is this typical social behavior among your people?” he asks. 

“I do not have a people any longer,” Gamora reminds them all savagely, throwing Quill’s shirt across the galley. Some further flailing is involved on his part, but nothing she cannot dodge or restrain, and he is clearly more concerned with not dropping the pieces of his device than actually escaping her grasp, which just makes her angrier. Of course it would be a thing so important to him. Of _course_. “Where is it?!” she demands, going for his pants. 

“ _Oh_ my god!” Quill protests, and this time actually does fall off her lap, holding his device above his head to prevent damage. Gamora considers kicking him in the head, but Groot shoos them apart with a concerned rumble. 

“I know that symbol,” Drax says, frowning at the device’s components now too. 

“As do I! As have I always! Now where is _yours_?!” Gamora demands furiously, ducking under Groot’s branches to pin Quill to the floor and going for his pants again. It is his fault, she is certain. She has never known what the mark meant, only that it was to be destroyed every time it rose up again, but she _knows_ that it is Peter Quill’s fault. She is certain, now. 

“Here,” says Drax, who is not the man she expected to answer her. But he tugs the waistband of his trousers down and reveals it on his hip all the same: the mark in red and white and black, strange blue characters and all. 

“What,” Gamora says. 

“Wait, you have one too?” Rocket asks, touching his chest with a queasy expression. “What the hell, I thought it was, like, a _serial_ number or something.” 

“Why would we have serial numbers?” Gamora snaps. 

“I didn’t know _you_ did!” Rocket snaps back. 

“What are we _talking_ about?!” Quill demands shrilly from the floor, trying to drag his pants back up. On principle, Gamora drags back. “ _Hey!_ Bad assassin! Look, normally I am all about this kind of thing but the exhibitionism is a little much, don’t you think?! Like, we’ve already escaped the Kyln, it’s a little late for the ‘don’t drop the soap’ scenarios, okay?” 

“Show me,” Gamora says sharply, ignoring Quill to look at Rocket’s chest. Rocket grimaces but tugs the front of his jumpsuit open grudgingly and parts his fur just enough for it to show skin: red and white and black and those strange blue characters, again. Gamora has exactly enough time to recognize the mark before Rocket is touching Groot and Groot is ducking his head and moving branches to bare a matching one on his neck, although his looks more carved in than anything else. 

“Hey, wait,” Quill says, blinking at them. Gamora yanks up her shirt to show her own copy of the mark cradled in the curve of her ribs, the skin there heavily scarred and mutilated but the mark itself still always rising back to the surface, and he starts choking. 

“Where is yours?” she asks him suspiciously, and Quill turns bright red. 

“T-that’s private!” he sputters. “And what are you all flashing yours at me for, anyway, I didn’t even know other species _had_ those!” 

“I have always had it,” Gamora hisses, her hand fisting in his waistband. “Thanos cut and burned and _tore_ it off me, and still it returned! Now tell me _what it is!_ ” 

“It’s--it’s a soulmark,” Quill stutters, staring up at her, and something in Gamora stills at the unfamiliar word. It is the answer she’s wanted, but an answer she does not understand, and she lets go of him without quite deciding to do it first. 

“What the hell’s a soulmark?” Rocket demands, and Gamora’s fingers curl against nothing. 

“It is not my sole mark,” Drax says, frowning as he gestures at his face and arms. “I have many markings!” 

“I--what, _no_ , your _soul_!” Quill protests. “S-O-U-L, you know, that thing? Fairly standard software, all models come equipped, that thing that keeps on going after you die?” 

They all stare at him for a moment. Drax looks dubious, Groot looks confused, Gamora is feeling the killing urge rise, and Rocket--well, Rocket bursts into laughter. 

_“‘Soul’!”_ he wheezes hysterically. “Hell, Quill, you say that like you think that’s even a thing!” 

“Uh,” Quill says, expression turning awkward. 

“Oh my god _you do_!” Rocket cries, and laughs even harder. 

“I do not understand. What _is_ a soul?” Drax asks, looking puzzled. 

“It’s, uh, the part of you that’s _you_ ,” Quill says, shifting uncomfortably and adjusting his pants. “Under, you know, the other parts.” 

“ _What_ other parts?” Drax asks, wrinkling his nose. “I am Drax. There is no other part to me.” 

“Oh boy,” Quill mutters, reaching for his shirt. Gamora steps on it. 

“It is _not_ the mark of a soul,” she says flatly. “I have no soul.” Thanos made sure of that, and in many, many ways that had nothing to do with all the times he took that mark off her. 

“Uh--that’s not how it works,” Quill says, looking awkward. “It’s not--I mean--uh--” 

“ _What_ , Quill?” she snaps. “Tell me how it works, this unsightly blemish that Thanos cut me to the bone trying to remove! It is not my soul! If ever I bore one of those, it came away far more easily than _this_ ugly thing ever did!” 

“Yeah, uh. Well, you’re right about that, it’s not your soul,” Quill says, grimacing. “It’s mine.”

“ _Excuse_ me?!” Gamora hisses. 

“That ugly thing, it’s _my soul_ ,” Quill repeats, gripping his device tight. “It’s a--a Terran thing. Happens to people who are destined to . . . you know, _destine_.” 

“That is not true,” Gamora snaps, because she has never heard anything so ridiculous in all her life. “That is some--some child’s story!” 

Quill grimaces again and shakes his head, then pushes himself to his feet and turns his back on them. She is about to snarl at him for abandoning the conversation, and then she sees the neat stack of markings going up his spine. From bottom to top, there is a forked twig, something that looks very similar to the four-barrelled muzzle of Rocket’s gun, a perfect copy of Drax’s facial tattoos, and . . . 

And the silhouette of Gamora’s favorite blade. 

“Uh,” Quill says, craning his neck to glance back at the rest of them. “I mean, just going out on a limb here, but these mean anything to any of you? I haven’t looked in about twenty years, kinda an awkward angle in the mirror and all, so . . .” 

“You’re a fool,” Gamora bites off, staring at the shadow-image of her blade. 

“Hey!” Quill protests. “I thought it was--Yondu said it was just a Terran thing, okay, I didn’t _want_ to look! I thought I was never gonna meet them! I mean--uh. You, I guess. I thought I was never going to meet you. And let’s be frank you guys are really not what I would’ve expected, any of you. Like I was definitely expecting a higher ratio of female to male, for one thing--” 

“Why does _that_ matter?” Gamora asks, immediately suspicious. Quill freezes, then turns bright red. 

“Okay, what _exactly_ is a soulmark supposed to ‘destine’ you for, Quill?” Rocket asks, looking fairly suspicious himself. 

“Uh.” Quill swallows, wincing. “Each . . . other?” 

The ship gets very _loud_ , after that. 

“I! AM! _GROOT_!” Groot eventually shouts, his branches dragging everyone apart with only minor additions to the bruising, and Gamora only does not hack them off him because she still isn’t sure if he can feel pain and if he can’t it wouldn’t be much of a deterrent.

He has Drax and Rocket in one arm, her and Quill in the other, and the cursed mark still bared on his neck. Gamora has the sudden thought that if Groot so chose he could kill or cradle them all in this position and they would only know the difference once he had followed through. Her fingers itch for a weapon, but he is growing underneath her, layers and layers of flexible interwoven branches that support her body perfectly without restraining it at all. 

She still wants the weapon. 

Specifically, she wants the blade on Peter Quill’s back. 

“Okay,” Quill says slowly, his hands in the air in ridiculous fashion. He is upside down, because of course he is, the idiot. “Everybody good? We good?” 

“I am _better_ ,” Drax declares. Gamora and Rocket both roll their eyes, and Gamora kicks Groot in irritation. 

“Release me,” she demands, even though he isn’t really holding her in place anyway. 

“Be calm,” Drax says. “There is a simple solution to this confusion.” 

“Blow it up?” Rocket suggests immediately. 

“. . . there are _two_ simple solutions to this confusion,” Drax amends, expression turning thoughtful. 

“So how about that first one!” Quill blurts, waving his hands frantically. “The first one, let’s hear it!” 

“Of course,” Drax says, bowing his head agreeably. Groot’s branches support Gamora’s spine with perfect pressure. “We must have sex.” 

The ship gets _very loud_. 

“Wait, what,” Gamora says five minutes later, blinking down at Quill where he is pinned to the cleared dinner table beneath her. Her shirt has disappeared and she has absolutely no idea how he got there or how she ended up on top of him, although if pressed she could in fact reconstruct the entire sequence of events from memory and could also retrieve Quill’s reconstructed device from the safe place where he’d tucked it away before they got this far. 

“Nrghasgfh _don’t stop doing that_ ,” Quill gasps hoarsely, craning his neck to mouth at her scarred ribs as Drax curves a hand around his jaw and Rocket presses up against her back, Groot’s branches just barely trembling over their heads. Gamora looks around and spares a moment to be appalled with all five of them, and then continues doing “that” with absolutely no regrets. 

“This is the stupidest idea any of us have ever had,” Gamora grunts as Quill kisses the mark under her ribs, and she thinks of the soul she doesn’t have and the mark on his back. She thinks about how Drax’s hand looks on Quill’s face and how Rocket’s fur feels against her bare skin and Groot’s trembling branches, too. 

“Babe, I swear, I will be so stupid, I will be stupid for _all_ you freaking idiots,” Quill promises breathlessly, and Gamora just shoves him down onto his back and lets him kiss her some other places too. 

Dinner ends up all over the floor, but is still no great loss, and whatever strange twist of Terran biology created those shapes on Quill’s back and echoed his own shape on all of them, it does not matter. Rocket still laughs mockingly and Drax still does not grasp the concept as explained and Groot still says nothing and Gamora still has no soul. 

And Quill . . . 

And Quill still has those marks, whatever they mean.

**Author's Note:**

> Written largely while listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yocoLIyN6vM), because I am also weak to geek rap.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [this one's for me, I deserve it [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125943) by [blackglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/pseuds/blackglass), [daroos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroos/pseuds/daroos), [girlwithabubblegun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwithabubblegun/pseuds/girlwithabubblegun), [kalakirya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalakirya/pseuds/kalakirya), [readbyjela (jelazakazone)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/readbyjela)




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